Russell Baldwin, a consummate artist, influential teacher, and college gallery
director for 25 years, emerged as a major player on San Diego's contemporary art
scene
in the early 1960s. His most recent body of work, executed over the past seven
years, is
a stunning series of impeccably crafted, three-dimensional, wall-mounted pieces
incorporating found and fabricated objects and text. Infused with irony and
wit, these
intellectually complex and multi-layered works comment on issues like racism,
crime,
politics, corporations, globalization, corruption, and the human condition. "Art
is all
over," Baldwin's trademark phrase, reveals the artist's delight in the nuances
of
language and double-entendre, as well as expressing other themes that interest
him, such
as the rigors of the creative process and the relevance of art.

One of the most engaging aspects of Baldwin's shadowbox-like works is the
unsurpassed elegance of their aesthetics and workmanship. Objects and materials
are
chosen, fabricated, and assembled with the sensitivity of a master's eye. Raw
canvas
and wood have never looked more beautiful. Although Baldwin has produced an
impressive body of art over the years, this is his first San Diego exhibition in
two
decades.

Baldwin prefers that viewers discover for themselves the multi-layered
meanings
and ideas imbedded in his works, but an explanation of a few of them may provide
an
approach to his art for the uninitiated. Indeed, collectors who have purchased
his works
discover secret or hidden elements years after acquiring them.

For example, White Sound (#12 in the exhibition), an
anti-deforestation-themed
piece, is composed of three primary elements: a rectangular box shape inset with
a
miniature, window- like diorama; an "ornament" resting on top of the box and
suggesting a 18thi century furniture pediment; and a strip of wood painted and
lettered to
resemble the yellow plastic tape used to cordon off crime scenes.

The scene inside the diorama depicts a small section of forest that has just
been
subjected to logging. In the foreground, a felled tree, partially attached at
the stump,
hangs over a riverbank. In the background, the logging company's activities are
represented by a cluster of jagged stumps. These are cordoned off by yellow
crime
scene tape. The tree and stumps are painted a death-like, ashy gray and the raw
wood of
the "wounds" is painted white.

Incised across the window of the diorama are the words "nobody heard the tree
fall." This is a reference to the philosophical question, "If a tree falls in a
forest and
there's no one there to hear it, does it make a sound?" Keeping in mind the
title of the
piece, White Sound, other allusions to sound (and, by association, the noise
made by a
falling tree) become apparent. "White sound," also known as "white noise," is a
sound
containing every frequency within the range of human hearing and is usually
perceived
as a uniform static or hissing sound. In Baldwin's case, the relationship
between the
cracking noise of a tree falling and the scientific definition of white sound is
probably more poetic than scientific, but, as mentioned above, he cleverly
paints the raw wood of
the tree wounds white to reflect the theme of the piece.

The pseudo-decorative element atop White Sound contains another allusion to
sound: the word "silence" rubberstamped in purple ink across a miniature stack
of
lumber. Could this be the silence of death (the trees are not talking anymore)
or of those
who don't take an active role in saving the forests? It's for the viewer to
decide.
More obvious in meaning are the intricately carved and deadly looking circular
saw blades that flank the stack of lumber like a set of bookends. In another
ingenious
touch, the saw blades, the lumber, and the cradle in which the lumber rests
combine to
resemble a flatbed railroad car loaded with lumber. This appears to also reflect
Baldwin's interest in collecting antique toys and models.

The yellow crime scene tape stretched across the lower third of
White Sound
completes the imagery and literally and figurative ties everything together. The
second
occurrence of the word "crime" bends around the edge of the piece, so that it is
bisected
into two components: "cri" and "me." This immediately evokes Arthur Hamilton's
1953
hit song Cry Me a River and brings the viewer back to Baldwin's diorama image of
the
felled tree leaning into the river.

Little Lectures on Art (#10 in this exhibition) addresses a favorite Baldwin
topic,
the relevance of art. This complex piece contains many elements and allusions
housed
in two "glassed-in" miniature dioramas. A third element, a small shelf holding a
bottle
of "gray matter," projects from the surface.

The top diorama, with the words "Craftsmanship has nothing to do with art"
seems
particularly ironic given the impeccable craftsmanship of Baldwin's works. "I've
been
fighting it [craftsmanship] all my life," he admits. In Little Lectures on Art
Baldwin is
saying that while good craftsmanship may be one characteristic of some kinds of
art, a
great work of art is grounded in more than pure technique. It must convey ideas
or be
thought provoking. To that end, both lenses of the wire-rimmed spectacles
visible
through the window of the diorama are etched with the word "ideas" in a manner
that
they would be readable by the wearer. Behind the spectacles Baldwin's trademark
phrase "Art is all over" can be seen subtly etched in the black background.

The lower diorama contains several elements, including reproductions of
details
from several paintings and a working clock whose hand makes a complete sweep
every
minute. Two statements or phrases are incised into the window: "The national
average
is seven seconds" and "A dialogue with the viewer must take place. What do you
bring
to this work?" In the course of pursing his love of demographic statistical data, Baldwin
unearthed
a particularly relevant figure: the average amount of time that a museum visitor
spends
looking at a work of art is seven seconds. This statistic is visually reinforced
by the
clock and, of course, relates to the second phrase. Obviously, seven seconds is
not
enough time for a meaningful "dialogue" to take place between a work of art and
a
viewer.

The second part of the phrase ("what do you bring to this work") addresses
the
frame of reference brought by the viewer to a work of art. Whether this includes
education, insight, or intellectual curiosity, Baldwin neatly symbolizes it in
the tiny
glass bottle labeled "gray matter," perched discretely on a small shelf
projecting from
the surface of Little Lectures on Art. Incidentally, the bottle contains nuts
and bolts,
some screwed together and some separate. Baldwin cautions, "Especially if you
hate a
work, you need to question why you don't like it."

For those interested in minutiae, the works of art depicted in the
reproduction
details are by the following artists (left to right): John Mann1, Larry Poons,
LeRoy
Nieman, Edgar Degas, and Jasper Johns.

You, Too, Should Have a Cayman Island Address (#6 in this
exhibition), is an indictment of corporate management and greed. This work deals
with a proposal, approved by the Board of Directors and more than two-thirds of
the shareholders of the Stanley tool company in May 2002, to move Stanley's
corporate headquarters (at least on paper) to Bermuda. Bermuda and the Cayman
Islands are popular with wealthy individuals and corporations trying to dodge
taxes. The Bermuda relocation would have enabled this quintessentially American
company to save an estimated $30 million in U.S. Corporate Income Tax on foreign
sales, but was ultimately abandoned when the public outcry over the plan became
too intense.

The five vertically placed Stanley screwdrivers on top of You, Too, Should
Have a
Cayman Island Address, have obvious implications for American
taxpayers. In addition, Baldwin sees the black color of the handles as implying
negativity. Double scoops of gold-colored ice cream, symbols of "double dipping"
(collecting two pensions)2 and of corporate avarice, balance atop the
handles of the screwdrivers. Miniature palm trees, Baldwin's icon for tropical
island tax havens, flank the screwdrivers.

The most confrontational elements of the piece are two life-size casts of
hands3
holding ice cream cones. These project towards and appear to be offered to the
viewer.
One of the cones contains a huge, gold-gilded double dip of ice cream, while the
other
cone is empty. A caption beneath them reads, "Oops! I dropped yours!" Baldwin
says
that the imagery and caption stem from an Esquire magazine cartoon he remembers
seeing when he was a child, and in this piece signify the winners and victims of
corporate scheming.

Russell Baldwin has a long and distinguished exhibition history
and his art can be found in many museum, institutional, and private collections.
The Visual Arts Program of the San Diego Public Library is proud to host this
unusually interesting and ambitious body of work and hopes that library visitors
find it to be enriching and stimulating.

Mark-Elliott Lugo, Library Curator

Corrections by Russell Baldwin
1 Should be "John Marin."2 Should be "double tax dipping."3 Should be "carved hands."